booktalesy Chapter 131 The Fortress of Capital
Chapter 131 The Fortress of Capital
Chapter 131 The Fortress of Capital
Morganfield House, Pittsburgh.
The indicator lights on the high-speed elevator were flashing wildly, and the feeling of weightlessness was pressing on my eardrums.
Leo Wallace stood in the middle of the elevator, looking at his reflection in the mirrored stainless steel door.
"bite."
With a soft click, the elevator stopped on the forty-fifth floor.
The elevator doors slid open slowly.
Leo stepped out, and an indescribable tension emanated from him.
The sight before him made him stop in his tracks.
This was originally supposed to be a spacious and empty banquet hall.
At this moment, it has been transformed into a massive war machine.
The space, spanning several hundred square meters, was divided into more than a dozen functional areas by temporary glass partitions.
A dozen huge desks were pushed together, piled high with files and folders.
Countless black cables snaked across the ground, connecting dozens of servers flashing blue light and high-resolution monitors.
There were at least twenty people here, all dressed in impeccably tailored dark bespoke suits.
Some were whispering and roaring into the phone, some were frantically writing complex flowcharts on a whiteboard, and some were gathered around a long table, dissecting a document word by word.
A female assistant in a business suit walked briskly over, gestured for Leo to proceed, and guided him through the bustling maze.
As Leo walked past the desks, he saw the badges on the men's chests.
Wachtell, Lipton, Rosen & Katz.
Skadden, Arps, Slate, Meagher & Flom.
Cravath, Swaine & Moore.
These names may be completely foreign to the average person, but in the legal world and on Wall Street, they represent the top of the food chain.
They are top law firms that specialize in handling mergers and acquisitions, antitrust cases, and life-or-death lawsuits for Fortune 500 companies.
Every lawyer here, even a junior assistant sitting in a corner looking up information, earns over $800 an hour.
The partners who sit at the head table and direct operations are paid by the minute, and every minute is priceless.
This is an army built with US dollars.
Leo walked to the end of the hall.
There was a huge long table facing a floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking a miniature Pittsburgh below.
Douglas Morganfield sat in the head seat.
He held a large cigar between his fingers, and his expression remained calm amidst the swirling smoke.
Upon seeing Leo, Morganfield did not stand up, but simply gestured with the finger holding a cigar to the empty seat next to him.
"Please sit, Mr. Mayor."
Leo sat down, his gaze sweeping over the four lawyers seated on either side of the long table.
These people were all over fifty years old, with gray hair and sharp eyes.
There were no mountains of documents in front of them, only a few thin sheets of paper.
They are the generals of this army.
"Is this your reaction?" Leo looked at Morganfield. "It seems you're not surprised."
"surprise?"
Morganfield chuckled and flicked away his cigarette ash.
"Leo, what do you think a monopoly is? It's the most dazzling jewel in the crown of commerce. If you want to take it off, you have to be ready to face the swords of challengers at any time."
"From the moment I signed that franchise agreement with you, I knew this day would come."
Morganfield pointed to the busy figures around him.
"I never fight a battle unprepared."
Morganfield's voice carried a powerful confidence, a composure built upon countless victories in business.
"Don't worry, Leo. My informants got my ears before that so-called Free Trade Promotion Association even filed their lawsuit."
"In America, justice is expensive."
Morganfield took a puff of his cigar, and smoke billowed from his nostrils.
"But the good news is, I can afford it."
He turned his head and looked at the lawyer sitting in the first seat on his right.
He was a thin, elderly man wearing gold-rimmed glasses.
"Bennett, tell our mayor how we plan to deal with these guys who want to steal meat from my plate."
The lawyer named Bennett nodded slightly and adjusted his glasses.
His voice was quite calm, without any emotional fluctuation.
"Mr. Mayor, we have reviewed the other party's complaint in detail."
"Section 2 of the Sherman Antitrust Act is a very serious charge. If convicted, not only will the franchise agreement be voided, but Morganfield will also face huge fines and the risk of being broken up."
"However, the law is about procedure."
Bennett said slowly.
"We don't intend to get bogged down in the core issue of whether or not there's a monopoly. That's a trap that would drag us into an endless economic debate."
"Our strategy is: procedural strangulation."
Bennett opened the folder in front of him, pulled out a complicated flowchart, and pushed it in front of Leo.
"The first step is to challenge the plaintiff's standing."
"The plaintiff is the Pennsylvania Free Trade Promotion Association, a non-profit organization established less than three months ago. We will file a motion with the court requiring the plaintiff to disclose its funding sources and membership to prove its substantive standing in this case."
"If they cannot prove that they have suffered direct financial loss, the judge must dismiss the case."
"And once they disclose the source of their funding—" a cold smile crept across Bennett's usually impassive face, "we can follow the trail, find the mastermind behind it all, and then countersue them for abusing the legal process and engaging in unfair business competition."
"The second step is the objection to jurisdiction."
"They chose to file the lawsuit in the Federal District Court in Philadelphia, which is their home court. We will request that the case be transferred to the Federal District Court for the Western District of Pittsburgh, on the grounds that the core assets of the case and the place of performance of the contract are in Pittsburgh."
"Hearings and rulings regarding jurisdiction can be delayed for at least three months."
"The third step is the bombardment of evidence discovery."
Bennett gestured to the busy junior lawyers in the lobby.
"Once the case enters the evidence collection stage, we will send a massive number of document retrieval requests to the plaintiff, requiring them to provide business communication records, financial statements, and meeting minutes of all relevant members over the past ten years."
"At the same time, we will submit millions of pages of technical documents to the court regarding Pittsburgh's logistics history, river hydrological data, and global port operation models."
"We'll load the papers onto trucks and bury the plaintiffs' legal team alive in piles of documents."
"We want to make sure they don't even have time to read through these documents, let alone find any loopholes."
"The fourth step is the expert witness test."
"We have contacted twelve top antitrust law professors and economists from Harvard, Yale, and the University of Chicago. They will issue authoritative academic reports arguing that the concession rights for inland ports fall under the category of 'natural monopolies' and are the optimal solution in the public interest."
"Mr. Mayor, this lawsuit will not end in three months, or even in three years."
"The other party wants to use litigation to attack Morganfield Industries and affect the construction of the inland port."
"But we have applied for judicial preservation under a state of emergency, and our legal team is confident that we can persuade the judge that infrastructure construction involving significant public interest should not be suspended before the final judgment of the case."
"In other words, the lawsuit will continue, and the port will continue to be repaired."
"We will drag them into a legal quagmire that will cost tens of millions of dollars and last for years."
"Look at the other party's financial backer, are they willing to burn through so much money for a case that is destined to have no outcome?"
Bennett paused briefly, then said, "Furthermore, Mr. Mayor, according to our intelligence analysis, the timing of this lawsuit is very interesting; it coincides precisely with the crucial moment when Senator Murphy announced his candidacy for Senate."
"We have reason to speculate that the other party's real goal is not to promote free trade in Pittsburgh, much less for that vague notion of market fairness."
"Their goal is clear: to undermine Senator Murphy's campaign by creating legal disputes to hinder the construction of the port project."
"So our strategy is simple: delay."
"As long as we can drag this case through the midterm election cycle, until Senator Murphy's campaign is over."
"Once the political objectives fail, the financial backers behind the opposing party will realize that continuing this costly lawsuit is pointless. At that point, they will most likely choose to withdraw the case or seek a low-cost settlement."
"We don't believe they're genuinely burning money for justice."
After Bennett finished speaking, he fell silent again.
Leo stared at the flowchart, at the legal traps that were meticulously calculated at every step.
He was deeply shocked; this was the pinnacle of legal defense.
It has nothing to do with justice, nothing to do with the truth, and nothing to do with the spirit of the law itself.
It's all about skill, resources, and who can afford to hire more, smarter brains to manipulate the rules.
In Pittsburgh's South Side, an unemployed worker who stole bread might be locked up in jail for a month because he couldn't afford bail, waiting for a public-sponsored lawyer whose appointment is never on the waiting list.
And here.
In the conference room at Morganfield.
A group of elites charging thousands of dollars per hour are using the most legal means to protect a multi-billion dollar monopoly deal.
They turned the law into a labyrinth, a labyrinth whose map is only in the hands of the rich.
"Don't worry, Leo."
Morganfield leaned back in his chair.
"My lawyer had already written down the grounds for his counterattack before the lawsuit was even on your desk."
"As for that Free Trade Promotion Association, whoever is behind it, they think they can intimidate me with the law."
"But the law, in essence, is a service."
"As long as you can afford it, you can enjoy the best service."
Leo stood up.
He looked at the room, which reeked of expensiveness, and at the brilliant minds busy with money, and felt a clarity he had never known before.
"Thank you for the presentation, Douglas."
Leo straightened his suit.
"Since you're ready, I won't say any more."
"My people will cooperate with your legal team. If you have any questions, just contact Ethan. You have his phone number."
Morganfield nodded.
Leo turned and left.
The elevator doors slowly closed, isolating that world, overflowing with the scent of money, on the forty-fifth floor.
The numbers began to decline, returning from the cloud to the ground.
Leo leaned against the cold metal wall, saying nothing.
He had read countless history books about conglomerate monopolies and heard countless rumors about money manipulating the law; he thought he had long since seen through the essence of this game.
However, conceptually "knowing" and actually "seeing" are two completely different things.
That room full of elites, those dozens of top minds charging thousands of dollars per hour, that legal warfare machine operating with the efficiency of a precision instrument—
All these enormous resources are merely for the purpose of protecting the private interests of an oligarch.
Meanwhile, in the municipal courthouse a few blocks away, countless ordinary people like Margaret are unable to afford even a few hundred dollars in lawyer fees, leaving them with no guarantee of their most basic right to appeal and only despair during long waits.
He was shocked, even felt a shiver of fear that came from instinct.
It's not fear of Morganfield personally, but fear of this rule system that has been completely alienated by money and armed to the teeth.
Faced with that army of lawyers, so-called fairness and justice are as fragile as a piece of waste paper.
Roosevelt keenly sensed Leo's emotional fluctuations and said, "This is the American justice system, Leo."
"It's like a luxury hotel."
"The door is open to everyone, and everyone has the right to go in."
"But only those who can afford the exorbitant prices can stay in the presidential suite, enjoy the most comfortable service, and have a panoramic view."
"Those who can't afford it can only wait in a corner of the lobby to be kicked out by security guards."
"But isn't that ironic?"
Leo silently recited in his mind.
"We originally wanted to use the law to protect the weak, but the law has become the sharpest weapon in the hands of the strong."
Roosevelt corrected him, saying, "From the very beginning, the law was never intended to serve the poor."
"Who were the people sitting in Independence Hall in Philadelphia in 1787 who drafted the Constitution? They were plantation owners, wealthy merchants, and lawyers who owned large tracts of land."
"Their original intention in making the rules was to protect their property from the mob, to ensure that creditors could recover their debts, and to allow slave owners to legally own slaves."
"The law is a moat protecting private property, and it has never been a refuge for the poor."
"Rousseau said that men are born free, and the state is a contract entered into by people for the common good. This sounds beautiful and sacred."
"But in reality, Thrasymachus's assertion is the truth—justice is in the interest of the strong."
"In this system, whoever has money has the right to interpret the rules; whoever has resources is the master of the contract."
"For the poor, the so-called social contract is nothing more than a contract of servitude imposed on them. They sell their freedom in exchange for the mere right not to starve to death."
"So don't look for some sacred justice in court; it's just a place of calculation and game theory."
"The law is just a weapon, Leo."
"It is a meticulously crafted, gleaming sword, used to maintain the existing order and distribution of benefits."
"The sword itself is neither good nor evil; the key lies in the hand that wields it."
"In the future, how will you use this weapon? Will you use it to protect the weak, or to consolidate your power?"
"It depends on one's own mind."
The elevator arrived at the first floor.
Leo walked out of the Morganfield building.
The sunlight outside was a bit too bright.
He stood by the roadside, watching the cars come and go on the street, a complex feeling welling up inside him.
He once hated the arrogance of capital and the trampling of rules by money.
But today, it is precisely this very force that he once hated that is protecting him.
This is both an irony and a reality.
He took out his phone, ready to call Ethan and tell him that the legal crisis was over.
Just then, the phone screen lit up.
It was Sarah calling.
Leo pressed the answer button.
"Hey Sarah, tell everyone not to worry, Morganfield has already—"
"Leo!"
Sarah's voice interrupted him, with a background of noisy keyboard typing and ringing telephones.
"Leo, don't come back—no, come back now!"
Sarah shouted incoherently.
"Something terrible has happened! The public is in an uproar!"
Leo frowned. "Dockworkers again? Tell Frank to handle it. I've already told him—"
"No! It's not just dockworkers!"
"This time it's everyone! Every community group, every social media platform, is flooded with it!"
Sarah spoke very quickly, accompanied by the sound of typing on a keyboard.
"Open your X, our backyard is on fire."
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